Vengeance - Chapter Ten
by Soquilii
Summary: Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison and Parker are now the Leverage team. Nate and Sophie, long retired, reside blissfully somewhere in Europe. The team of three has persisted, building their justice-for-hire empire to encompass several countries. Leverage International, Hardison's dream, was now a reality. Now, an old nemesis is back.


**CHAPTER TEN**

**7002 RAINSWOOD CT BETHESDA MD**

The envelope in Vance's hand exploded its contents straight up into his face. Though he was quick to react, swiftly expanding particulates lit on his upper body and entered his nose and eyes. Stunned, he left the envelope on the floor where it had fallen and clamped his hand over his nose and mouth, furious at himself. As an FBI agent, he had been trained to spot threats of this nature; how in hell had he missed it?

His priorities now were to get out of his clothes, get to fresh air and call for help.

Vance grabbed his cell phone, loosened his belt and dropped his pants. Still operating on half a lungful of air, he snatched his wallet and Federal badge. He staggered outside in his tee shirt and boxers after locking the front door for safety. He'd give the keys to the authorities; he knew the house would have to be quarantined until all contamination was removed.

He couldn't seem to get enough oxygen. His vision was blurry and his balance was off.* Inhaling the cold air as deeply as he could, which triggered a coughing spell, he crept to one of the lawn chairs. Holding the phone to his ear, he chokingly relayed his emergency and location to the dispatcher, stressing the need for special precautions.

As he waited for the cavalry to arrive, struggling to breathe and shaking from the cold, Vance searched his memory. He knew that white powder incidents had been reported at various locations in recent times, including a few Federal buildings, across the country. The method of delivery most frequently utilized by terrorists and enemy agents…_and_ the most lethal…was injection. That knowledge and the fact that he'd minimized his exposure somewhat gave him some hope, for injection was a death sentence.

Shaking his head, he berated himself. _What a stupid thing to do!_ He'd been distracted by Jean leaving; he'd let his mind wander at the thought of a week of bachelor solitude; the envelope had appeared legitimate. Still…he should have been more alert.

Vance's reddened eyes were stinging; he closed them. Thank God Jean had left that morning! Thank God the kids had forgotten the mail! What if this had happened to one of _them_?

He couldn't think clearly. Why would Spencer send… No. _No way_ would his friend do something like this. _No. Way_. Spencer's technique had always been straightforward; sometimes lethal, but never covert. So…that begged the question: who _had_ sent it…why in Spencer's name, targeting him specifically? Again, who? For what reason?

_He had to figure it out!_

Vance was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate on the puzzle; just the act of getting enough oxygen into his lungs took all his strength. He fought panic. He had to tell the EMTs not to call Jean. Not just yet. She had enough on her mind, what with her mother and…

He could hear the sirens in the distance, getting closer and closer.

_Spencer didn't do this_.

The ambulance, lights flashing, turned into his driveway. Vance staggered in his efforts to stand and walk to them but he bent double coughing and choking. His knees buckled and he went down, landing on the frosted grass. Emergency personnel swarmed over him; their voices buzzing in his ears like so many bees.

Vance's throat was closing up; he could barely speak. He used what little air he had to force words out of his strained larynx. 'Don't…call my…wife!' he instructed them hoarsely. 'Do…_not_…call…wife!'

'We'll see, buddy, we'll see. Relax, we've got you now. What's all this?' the technician asked, accepting items from Vance's clenched fist.

Another EMT was covering him with a blanket, preparing him for transport. 'What's he got?' he asked.

The first technician took the items in gloved hands, enumerating them. 'House keys, wallet, phone; don't worry, I'll bag 'em. Hey, look! This guy's a _Federal agent_!' he said, holding up the gleaming badge.

'A white powder incident against a Federal agent…_whoa_.'

'Yeah, and he's not looking so good, so hurry it up.'

They strapped Vance to the gurney, raised it and shoved it into the back of the ambulance. Treatment began immediately. While they worked on him, Vance's thoughts were a feverish whirl: _Not Eliot. He'd never do anything like this. Good; they have protective gear on. Damn, my throat's on fire! It wasn't Eliot…I know it wasn't Eliot!_

Needles were going into his arms. A blood pressure cuff pinched and an oxygen mask went over his reddening nose and cheeks. He couldn't see anyone behind the Hazmat helmets; it would be comforting to see a human face, but he had to be satisfied with the reflection of his own in their masks…and that reflection was frightening.

In his last moments of consciousness, Vance's thoughts of Eliot Spencer triggered a memory; he had spoken to him over the phone not long ago. Was it possible an old neutered tomcat was responsible for this?

*For story purposes the normal time for ricin poisoning indicators has been condensed.


End file.
